


Initiative Check

by lettered



Series: Words And Not Deeds [5]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Biphobia, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Inexperience kink, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Misogyny, Safeword Use, Self-Esteem Issues, Slurs, mention of sanitary issues in relations to anal sex, possible consent issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29526639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: Daryl doesn't take initiative.This is the second-to-last story of this series; the last one is already posted.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Rick Grimes
Series: Words And Not Deeds [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/694122
Comments: 8
Kudos: 71





	Initiative Check

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting on a hard drive for quite a few years. It was originally part of a longer story that it looks like I'm not going to finish. Since this bit works on its own, I split it off. The series as a whole is finished and has an ending; this was meant to be filler. (This is the second of two such fics; this is the last one.)

Daryl had a boyfriend, he guessed, or as close as someone like him got. It went on for six weeks before they stopped talking.

Daryl didn’t know what went wrong.

*

They were together on Wednesday. 

On Thursday, the next day, Daryl was busy with Glenn. 

Rick had his kids Friday through Sunday and they were going up to see Rick’s sister, so Daryl didn’t see them all weekend. 

Carol ended up getting her new house inspected Monday night. Daryl thought she needed someone there to make sure they checked the plumbing, the foundation, the dry wall because Carol herself wasn’t great at that stuff. When Rick called about meeting that night, Daryl told him what was up. Said he might be busy the next night or two, with Carol closing on the house and all. Rick had seemed to understand. 

On Tuesday, Rick texted. _How about tonight?_

 _Can’t_ , Daryl typed, painstakingly. He had to use the number keypad to text and his thumbs were real big. _Busy with Carol_

 _Wish her luck_ , Rick texted. 

On Wednesday morning, Rick texted, _Carol again tonight?_

 _Maybe_ , Daryl texted back in his slow way. 

_OK Let me know if you need anything_.

Carol maybe didn’t need him that night—she was just doing stuff with the bank, but she really appreciated having Daryl there and Rick didn’t seem to mind, so Daryl went with her.

By Thursday, Daryl was starting to want Rick real bad. For one thing, Daryl’d been getting so much action lately that he was horny pretty much on principle; his dick thought it knew what was coming even when his brain didn’t.

He thought about taking care of it, but he still didn’t like touching himself. Besides all the thoughts in his head he hated how long it took. A little voice in the back of his mind whispered that things would go much faster if he just put something in his ass, but he never did that unless he was getting it ready for cock. He hated the feel of his insides on his fingers, hated knowing he had to do it to get off. Daryl knew he was a queer; he _knew_ it, but knowing it and facing it were different things.

If Rick asked him whether he was gonna be with Carol, he’d just say no, even if Carol could use his help, because he really was that much of a slut. Instead Rick texted, _How’s it going?_

 _Fine,_ Daryl texted. _You?_

 _OK_ , Rick texted.

On Friday Daryl didn’t even think too much about missing sex. He missed Rick. Rick treated Daryl like he was someone to listen to. Like he had ideas of his own. Rick liked beer and whiskey and could talk shit about guns and cars, even if his taste in cars sucked. Even that was good, the way Rick sucked at cars, and liked basketball, and microwaved chicken. God, Rick was such a loser. And he looked good; he looked so good, and he’d smile at Daryl and touch him, and Daryl had never been touched the way Rick touched him. Possessive and casual and kind. Rick was kind.

Rick didn’t have his kids this weekend. There weren’t no excuse for why they shouldn’t hook up, but Rick hadn’t called.

That he could call Rick instead didn’t even occur to Daryl at first. Rick was always the one who called. Even when they’d first met, Rick had been the one to call about Carol. Daryl had only called him twice, both times emergencies. That first time Daryl had called because he was worried about Carol, but there hadn’t been anything they could do. 

The second time Daryl had called was when Carol shot her husband. That was what had got Rick roped into that whole trial, being there to hear Daryl’s testimony; he hadn’t needed to be. Rick hadn’t needed to be there at all.

On Saturday, Daryl helped Carol work on her new house, and thought about Jake. _Such a needy bitch_ , Jake used to say, and it was true. Merle had used to point it out too. _What’re you always following me around for_ , Merle used to say. _Why can’t you just leave me be? I know why—you can’t make it on your own._

_It’s just you and me, brother. Just you and me._

With Jake it’d been the same. It’d been even worse, because Jake had known for real what a pussy Daryl was, when Merle had only guessed. _You know what I like about you_ , Jake used to say. _You need it so bad. All the time. Just a greedy little pussy waiting for the next cock. Aren’t you? As soon as you get a cock you’re wondering where the next hot thing in your ass will come from. Always whining for it, aren’t you._

The other guys Daryl had been with hadn’t known him the way Jake had known him. They’d always been surprised when he’d found them again. _You really want it_ , they’d say, sounding disbelieving. _I didn’t think you’d be back. I wouldn’t have thought you’d be into it._ Even though those guys had fucked him, it was like they didn’t understand what a slut Daryl was, couldn’t imagine wanting that filthy thing so often. They didn’t realize he was so desperate for it that he’d come back if they would take him. Every time.

On Sunday, Daryl worked on Carol’s new yard and thought about calling Rick. 

Only a week and a half had passed. Not a long time. Rick probably had other things to do. Probably hadn’t even noticed it’d been over a week. Didn’t need it like Daryl needed it; Rick had other friends, his family. Daryl used to see Jake only every month or so. 

_You think I’ll just drop everything?_ Jake had asked, the first time Daryl had called. _You want me to come fill that greedy pussy just because it’s too come-hungry for you to take care of yourself? I gotta do everything for it. Keep it fed, keep it satisfied, keep it wet and stretched. You know what I do with a cunt when she nags me like that? I drop it, Daryl. Bitches ain’t worth the effort._

Daryl could be patient, this time. Reasonable. Normal. Normal as you could be when you were a queer who liked it up the ass. He was getting more than he ever thought he could from Rick—more than just fucking, more than anything he could have reasonably expected, because Rick was his friend. Rick was his friend and Rick wanted that, that friendship, wanted Daryl for more than his ass. Rick didn’t want Daryl to be a pussy for him, a wet hole to stick it in. Rick wanted someone to spend time with and build cribs with and eat with and play basketball with his kid.

Daryl knew that. He _knew_ it, that he was important to Rick, which was all the more reason not to nag him every other day, because Merle had been wrong. Daryl could make it on his own. He could do it; he had Carol and Sophia and Rick. He was doing fine. He wasn’t a needy bitch. He was fine. 

On Monday night, Daryl went to Carol’s new house to help her paint. When she’d asked Sunday, he’d said he didn’t think he’d come. He’d kept thinking all week that Rick could call any minute. When it got to be seven on Monday and Rick still hadn’t called, Daryl went to Carol’s after all.

The door was open when he got there—probably because of the paint fumes, so Daryl knocked on the side. Called out as he went inside. “Carol?”

“Daryl!” Sophia ran in from the living room, a big baggy t-shirt on already smudged with paint. “Mom said you weren’t coming!”

“Said I might not,” Daryl explained. 

“Daryl?” Carol came in from the living room as well. Daryl looked up at her, and there was Rick, standing a little behind her. “We thought you weren’t coming.”

Daryl couldn’t take his eyes off Rick. Felt like a year since he’d seen him, and Daryl felt like he’d been in a desert that whole time. Rick was a tall drink of water.

“Rick said he’d help instead,” said Carol.

“She asked,” Rick said, unnecessarily.

“I’m painting a picture,” Sophia said. “Mom said I could do it under the paint. So, like, you won’t be able to see it, but we’ll know it’s there.”

God, Rick looked good. He always looked so good, and he shouldn’t. Not in those ratty paint clothes—a thin t-shirt with the name of some kids’ camp on it, worn-out jeans with paint already on them, but you could see him so clearly in that, all that lean muscle. Narrow hips and strong arms and scruffy face. Daryl had felt the roughness of that beard against his face, his lips.

Slowly, Daryl realized they were all looking at him. He should’ve said something to Sophia, Daryl realized, but he didn’t remember what she’d said.

“You wanna help paint?” Carol said gently.

Daryl bit his lip. Forced himself to stop looking at Rick. “Yeah,” was all he said.

“I’ll go get another roller,” Rick said. He turned away, went back into the living room.

They painted, Sophia painting a sun and a dragon and something that looked like a beetle, but she said it was a sloth. Then they painted over it, a light gray to cover the dingy taupe of the living room. Daryl tried not to look at Rick, not too much. Maybe he could ask after they were done—just ask Rick if he wanted to grab a beer or something, but that was stupid. That was stupid, and Daryl wasn’t a needy bitch.

If Rick wanted to fuck him he could just ask. Rick knew he could just ask. He knew he could have anything he wanted.

After an hour or so Carol asked if they wanted beers. She went into the kitchen to get them, and then Sophia went to get a soda. Not wanting to be left alone with Rick, Daryl went in there too. Sophia got her soda and went back out to help Rick, but Carol lingered in the kitchen. “I should’ve told you Rick would be here,” she said. “He called and asked if there was anything he could do.”

Daryl shrugged, cracking open a beer, then doing it again on the next one for Rick. Turned to take them to the living room when he felt Carol’s hand on his arm.

“You can still be friends,” she said. “With Rick.”

Daryl frowned. Carol didn’t know nothing about Rick fucking him, or taking him to Fuddruckers, or anything like that. She didn’t know they’d stopped doing those things either. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Don’t act like it’s nothing.” Carol took her hand away. She had on this cute rag thing, covering her hair. There were specks of paint on it.

“Like what’s nothing?”

“You still like him.”

Daryl had told her once, that he liked Rick. Well, he hadn’t actually told her. She’d figured it out. “It don’t matter.”

Carol grabbed his arm again. “I can tell him to go,” she said. “If you want.”

“I ain’t a fucking child, Carol. Mind your own goddamn business.” He took the beers with him out into the living room. Gave one to Rick, tried not to notice the way Rick’s fingers felt, brushing his. Tried not to meet Rick’s eyes at all, and went straight back to his roller.

Didn’t look at Carol, who came in behind him. She was such a fucking busybody, thinking he couldn’t handle it. He could handle it; he could handle everything. He could play this shit as cool as anybody and eventually, maybe, when it weren’t being a nag, then he’d call Rick. Say what’s up. Ask if he wanted to hang. Then they could go to that bar, and maybe Daryl could suck him off in the men’s room again. That wasn’t needy; that was just—just how they did it, right? Gay people.

That was it. He was that. A gay person. Like on TV. Gay. Queer, but not a fucking slut, or a demanding cunt, or any of those things Jake had called him. Daryl wasn’t any of those things, and he knew it. He was better than that. He could be better

Taking a swig of his beer, Daryl turned back to the paint. Carol should mind her own goddamn business.

Once they finished painting the living room, Carol called for pizza, and Daryl and Sophia moved on into Sophia’s room. It was a little house, just two bedrooms, one bathroom, living room and the kitchen, a little sitting area off the kitchen, but it’d been a great price. Carol was real happy with it, and even though it needed a little work, that was fine. 

Daryl’d said he could redo the gutters, and the part of the roof that leaked. He also thought the tile needed re-grouting in the bathroom, but Carol had said he shouldn’t have to do all that. He’d thought maybe he could build some shelves for her closet, too, but he’d have to convince Carol of that.

Rick and Carol went on to paint Carol’s room. Meanwhile Sophia wanted her room purple. “Not lavender,” she explained. “Purple. Like blood.”

“Ain’t blood red?” Daryl asked. The paint looked pretty lavender to him, but what did he know.

“Not when it first comes out,” said Sophia. “When it first comes out it’s dark. _Burgundy_.”

“Ain’t burgundy red?”

“No,” said Sophia, “I mean, the blood that comes out of your _heart_. That’s purple.”

“Oh, you seen it?” Daryl asked.

“Yeah.”

“You been stabbing people?”

“I’ve seen people stabbed.”

“Where?”

“In the heart,” said Sophia.

“Uh-huh,” said Daryl.

“On TV.” Sophia rolled her eyes, then went back to her painting. “Do you like Rick?”

Daryl’s eyes cut down to her. Then he went back to painting as well.

Sophia’s voice went quiet. “I mean like _like_ him, like him.”

Daryl looked at her again, then got more paint on his roller. Went back to painting.

“You do, don’t you.”

When Daryl flicked his gaze back to her again, she turned away, looking confident, like she already knew the answer. She started painting, and Daryl turned back to stare at the wet wall.

Well, fuck. She could think whatever she liked. She was Sophia. He’d’ve let her stab him in the heart till he bled purple blood, if that was what she wanted. Wishing he had a cigarette, Daryl went back to painting.

They went on like that for a while, and Daryl thought maybe she wasn’t gonna talk more about it, which he guessed was too much to ask. Must’ve been a whole five minutes later when she said, “Do you think he likes you?”

“Yeah,” Daryl said, just to shut her up.

“But, I mean. Do you think he _likes_ you, likes you?”

“You need more paint,” Daryl said. “Here.” When he held out his hand, Sophia held out her roller, and he rolled it in the pan for her, getting it wet with paint. 

She took it back, lavender paint dripping off the end. “Ughhh!”

“I got it.” Daryl took the handkerchief out of his back pocket and wiped up the drips between the newspapers on the wood floor, then replaced the newspaper so that it covered the floor more evenly. 

“You avoided the question,” said Sophia.

Daryl dipped his own roller. 

“Daryl,” Sophia protested, as Daryl took his time making sure the paint would drip off the sides of the roller.

“What?” he asked. “I’m not gonna get it everywhere, like you.”

“ _Daryl_.”

“Man,” he said, hearing that he sounded annoyed. “Why don’t you go ask him?”

“Maybe I will.” As though suddenly filled with determination, Sophia rubbed her roller hard on the wall.

Daryl put his newly filled roller on the wall. Pressed in, so he could hear the paint squeezing out of the cloth. Glanced down at Sophia, who was really applying herself to the paint. Daryl turned back to the wall. He should let it drop. “Don’t bug him,” he said instead.

“Why not?”

Daryl shrugged. “Ain’t your business.”

“He knows you’re gay,” Sophia pointed out.

Daryl didn’t see what that had to do with anything. Christ, he needed a smoke. 

“Daryl.”

Realizing he’d painted the same spot five times over, Daryl moved farther down the wall. “Don’t matter what he knows. You seen him. Who he dated.” _Who he married._

“Maybe he likes both.” Sophia went to dip her roller again.

 _It don’t work like that_ , Daryl wanted to shout at her, but it did. It did work like that. _Rick_ worked like that. 

“I could ask him.” Sophia was standing there with her full roller. Probably had paint dripping off it, but Daryl didn’t care no more. He didn’t wanna look at her. “I could ask if he likes you.”

“I said don’t.” 

“Maybe he never thought about it before,” Sophia suggested, still standing there with her paint.

“He’s had time,” Daryl pointed out. “He don’t need someone to nag him.”

“Maybe he does. Maybe he just didn’t notice, that he might like guys. Not everyone thinks about it, you know. And I don’t think Rick thinks about that kinda stuff very much at all. I mean, not since he got divorced. Carl says he only thinks about being a cop. Like he just does cop stuff all the time, and doesn’t think the other stuff is important—”

“Man,” Daryl said, finally ticked off. He didn’t even know why. “You ain’t got any idea, what he thinks. It ain’t your business! Why you keep harping on it?”

“Well, _sorry_ ,” Sophia snapped.

“Sophia,” said Daryl.

“Oh, no, don’t mind me.” Sophia ran her roller vigorously on the wall. “Don’t mind me; I’m just minding my own _business._ ”

“Dammit.” Daryl put his roller down, went over toward her. “Sophia—”

“Pizza’s here,” said Carol, poking her head in.

Daryl’d been reaching out for Sophia, but he stopped.

“Everything okay?” asked Carol.

“Peachy,” Sophia said, slamming her roller back in the pan.

Carol watched her stomp out of the room, then turned back to Daryl. “Was it something I said?”

“Nah.”

Carol frowned. “She’s certainly upset about something.”

She had specks of white paint on her front, like you get when the roller was too wet and you pressed it too hard. Sometimes Daryl thought Carol shouldn’t look so pretty—with her gray hair and her little snub nose, her thin frame, she shouldn’t be so goddamn beautiful. But she was, and Daryl knew he’d been an ass.

Frown deepening, Carol came the rest of the way into the room, pulled the door behind her—not closing it, but almost. She could always read Daryl too well.

“I shouldn’t’ve cussed at you,” Daryl said.

Her features softened, looking relieved. “That’s okay,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

Daryl didn’t particularly wanna explain himself, but Carol looked so beautiful and soft and kind, like someone who should be given things. Like someone who deserved things. “It isn’t,” he began, then started again. “I ain’t . . . I ain’t never talked about that kinda thing.”

“You don’t have to.” Carol put a hand on his arm. 

Rick poked his head in the door. “Hey, I thought we were going to . . .” Seeming to read the tone in the room, Carol’s hand on Daryl’s arm, Rick stopped. Then he said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Nah.” Daryl stepped away from Carol. “Just Carol didn’t get olives, and she’s real broke up about it.”

“I did too get olives,” Carol said.

Daryl headed out to the kitchen, brushing past Rick with Carol trailing behind. In the kitchen there was a folding table for the paint things, and Carol had brought over some folding chairs. Daryl set them up as Carol and Rick cleared the table. Sophia was sulking in a corner, punching buttons on Carol’s phone.

“Come have some pizza,” Carol told her, once they’d got dinner set up. They had some paper cups and towels for Coke and napkins, but no one had brought paper plates, so they had towels for the pizza, too.

“It has olives,” Sophia said. “I hate olives.”

“Heard your mom almost left them off,” Rick said. “Tragedy narrowly averted.”

“Mom only gets them for _him_.”

“Who?” said Rick.

“ _Him_ ,” Sophia said, her voice louder and more annoyed, but she didn’t indicate Daryl or even look at him. This was the way she got when she got upset, but Daryl definitely deserved it.

Rick, however, seemed taken aback, looking between Sophia and Daryl with a furrow in his brow. It was the first time he’d even really looked at Daryl the whole evening. Daryl looked away.

“I guess this other pizza is just for Rick, then,” Carol said, opening up the second box. “Come sit at the table.” Turning to Rick, she said something else about pizza toppings, while Sophia sidled up to the table and plopped herself down. Eventually she tore of a slice of pepperoni-only pizza, but then she just picked at it, not looking at any of them. 

While Rick and Carol went on to make polite conversation about the house, Daryl picked at his pizza too. He didn’t wanna look at anyone neither, even though he could practically feel Rick stealing little glances between him and Sophia, like Rick couldn’t even imagine a teenaged girl could ever get upset about anything. 

Christ. Rick. It’d only been twelve days since he and Rick were last together. It shouldn’t mess Daryl up so much, but he was messed up, wanting it so bad, missing him so bad, seeing that Rick weren’t messed up at all. It weren’t nothing for Rick, twelve days. Probably hadn’t even realized how long it’d been, gave no indication or hint or anything that that week and a half meant anything, nothing to indicate he wanted to hook up again.

Then again Rick wasn’t a needy bitch.

Merle had always said Daryl couldn’t hack it and it was true. Rick gone for twelve days and Daryl couldn’t just be normal; he’d fucked it up with Carol and he’d fucked it up with Sophia because he’d been distracted, thinking about Rick. Christ. He’d _yelled_ at her.

“Can I be excused?” Sophia said loudly, and Daryl looked up, startled.

Sophia’d actually managed to get two slices down, if her crusts were anything to go by, which was more than he could say for himself.

“Yes,” Carol said, and Sophia made a point of scraping her chair loudly. Turning back to Rick, Carol went on talking in her nice chatty way, and Daryl tried to listen but he couldn’t hear her.

“Gotta take a piss,” Daryl said, dropping the crumpled paper towel on his half slice of pizza, then getting up to find Sophia.

She weren’t in her bedroom, nor the bathroom. Not Carol’s room either, or the garage. When he finally found her she was in her new backyard, staring at the fence. The sun was just going down. There wasn’t much landscaping in the yard, though Daryl had put two trees in the day before. He’d wanted to make a garden, but that was gonna take a while.

“I wish I could climb the fence,” Sophia said.

At least she was talking to him. “How come?”

Sophia just shrugged.

“Bet you can,” Daryl said.

“It’s too tall.”

The fence was wood, about six feet high. Daryl demonstrated how to climb it, grabbing the top, bringing his foot up to brace against it about hip high, then pushing off to lift himself high enough to swing a leg over. He brought his other leg over, but instead of jumping down on the other side, he brought his legs back to the backyard side and dropped back down by Sophia. He turned to face her, brows raised.

Sophia shook her head.

“Why not?” said Daryl.

Scowling a little, Sophia approached the fence, tried getting her leg up to brace against it. Once she got there, though, she just hung.

“Now push up,” Daryl said, but when she tried she only got her collar bone above the level of the fence—not high enough. 

She dropped back down.

“We just need to work on your upper body strength,” Daryl said.

“I don’t want to work on my upper body strength.”

“It’ll help shooting your compound bow, too.” 

She looked up at him, interest sparked.

“Come on,” said Daryl, going to stand by the fence. “I’ll boost you.”

Sophia tried again, but once her foot was braced against the fence he made a cup for her heel so she could push off. Then as she raised herself up with her arms he pushed up, giving her support as she lifted herself. She finally got her leg over the fence. “This isn’t really the kind of fence you sit on,” she said, frowning down at him, her legs astride the fence.

Daryl hoisted himself up again to sit beside her. She was right—it was real uncomfortable, and he didn’t exactly sit on it so much as hold himself on it. “You didn’t say you wanted to sit on it.”

“I really just wanted to look,” she said.

There was a path on the other side of the fence, paved over. Train tracks used to go through here, but now it was like a jogging thing. Beyond the path there was an overgrown field, then half a mile or so before the strip center with the church and the manicure place and a Kentucky Fried across the street. Weren’t a bad neighborhood at all.

“I’m sorry,” Daryl said. “I shouldn’t’ve . . . I was an asshole to you.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Daryl looked out across the field. The sun was setting over the line of the strip center, streaks of red and gold. Wildflowers grew in the field—red ones and those purple things with the yellow centers—buttercups. An old couple were walking down the path, far off in the distance. 

Sophia let out a long breath. “I shouldn’t’ve been so nosy.”

“I ain’t used to it,” Daryl said.

“People being nosy?”

“People caring,” said Daryl. “About what I do. It ain’t—I ain’t used to it.”

“Well, I care.” Sophia chewed on her lip. “And Mom cares. I mean. Mom cares way too much. Can’t leave me alone, you know? But it’s because she cares. About me. A lot.”

Crickets were starting up. In the distance Daryl could hear the hushed roar of engines on the road.

“I bet if she stopped bugging me I’d get all worried she was like, leaving me or something,” Sophia said after a while. She looked quickly at Daryl and then looked down. “I have abandonment issues.”

 _No you don’t_ , Daryl wanted to tell her, because it sounded like a bad thing, but then he realized he didn’t know anything about abandonment issues. Sophia was seeing a counselor since Carol had shot Ed—what if that was something her counselor had told her? What if abandonment issues were a thing, a real thing, because of . . . people abandoning you? 

“This fence is real uncomfortable,” said Sophia. “Let’s get off.”

Daryl swung his legs back over, jumped down, then turned to help Sophia. She was trying to get down while facing the yard instead of facing the fence and using it as leverage to for her feet to walk herself down. The jump was obviously intimidating for her, so Daryl reached up, holding her by the hips. She grabbed his shoulders and he brought her down, setting her on the ground and turning to find Rick, standing in the elongated shadows of the setting sun.

He was smiling a little for no reason, expression soft. “Carol wanted to know if you two were gonna finish up the purple paint.”

“Daryl and I were admiring the scenery.”

“Yeah.” Rick still had on that little smile, and he was looking at Daryl.

“Come on,” Daryl said, heading for the house.

Sophia came with him, but talked over her shoulder to Rick, who came up behind. “Daryl’s very good at climbing fences. He’s actually good at lots of things.”

“Even though he likes olives?” Rick wanted to know.

“That’s worth putting up with,” said Sophia.

“Some things are,” Rick agreed, and they went on into the house.

*

They finished up around an hour later, Carol doing the bathroom and Rick, Daryl, and Sophia doing a second coat on the living room. By then it was getting late; Sophia had school the next morning and Daryl and Rick had work. Daryl kinda wanted to stay later so he didn’t have to leave at the same time as Rick, but Rick didn’t seem to get the picture, lingering as Carol and Sophia gathered up their stuff. Carol and Sophia were still staying at the Greene farm until the place was fixed up, and finally Daryl was kissing Carol on the cheek and poking Sophia in the arm and they were all going out. 

Carol and Daryl were parked in the driveway, but Rick was in the street for some reason, and then Daryl was getting into his truck. His phone buzzed as he was pulling out, but he couldn’t look at it since he was backing up, and after that he forgot about it, thinking instead about how he’d barely talked to Rick and it had probably seemed a little bitchy after all. Like maybe it seemed like he’d been ignoring him when they were supposed to be friends—but he couldn’t do anything in front of Carol and Sophia anyway, and if Rick had wanted him, he would’ve said.

Rick would’ve said if he’d’ve wanted him. He would’ve called.

Once Daryl got home to the trailer he remembered the phone. Checked it in the driveway. Rick had texted, _Can I come over?_ He must’ve sent it when they were still at Carol’s.

Shit.

Pissed at himself, Daryl grabbed the phone, headed into the trailer. Dropped his keys on the counter, then typed out, _yes_ , because if Rick had gone home already, that was just an answer to the question. Not needy at all.

Thirty seconds later, Daryl was still holding the phone, and it buzzed.

_I’m here_

Then there was a knock on the door and Daryl was, in fact, needy. He was a needy bitch, a demanding cunt; he didn’t care. He didn’t care.

He went and opened the door. Rick came in, then grabbed Daryl’s face. The door slammed and Rick was kissing him, hot mouth slanting over Daryl’s, hungry and wet. Fuck. 

Fuck.

Rick wanted it. 

Rick still wanted it, but of course he did. He’d made it clear, over these past six weeks, that he wanted it, but it’d been twelve days since they’d done it, and Daryl’s hands shook as he fumbled with Rick’s jeans.

“No,” Rick said, but Daryl didn’t really hear it. He didn’t care; he needed it so bad. He needed it so, so bad, and he wanted to be good for Rick. He wanted it to be so, so good; he wanted to show Rick what he could do. What he would do. 

Daryl sank down to his knees.

“No,” Rick said again, but Rick didn’t understand. He didn’t understand; Rick wouldn’t have to do nothing. Didn’t have to give him nothing; it didn’t have to be like it was before. They didn’t have to go to Fuddruckers and do dates and build cribs, not if that took too much of Rick’s time. Daryl wasn’t gonna waste Rick’s time; he wasn’t gonna demand anything—he didn’t need anything—he just needed this.

Daryl reached for Rick’s dick.

“No,” Rick said. “Georgia.” Then he pushed Daryl away, and Daryl rocked back, confused. 

_Georgia_. That was Rick’s word, Daryl realized. His safe word, but then Rick was down there with him.

“I need,” Rick started to say, but then he kissed him. “I’m sorry,” he said, his lips on Daryl’s jaw, his cheek. “I’m sorry.”

Rick kissed him some more, and Daryl didn’t know what to do. Rick was here; Rick was kissing him; Rick was touching him, but he didn’t want what Daryl wanted. As seemed to be the usual, Daryl couldn’t figure out what Rick actually did want.

“I’m sorry,” Rick said again, kissing Daryl’s throat. “I wanted to see you. I missed you.” 

Daryl pulled back, surprised.

“I should’ve called you,” Rick said.

“But—why? Why didn’t you?” Daryl asked, unable to help himself.

Rick pulled back too. “Because I was trying to—I thought . . .” Frustrated, he ran a hand over his hair. “I wanted you to do it.”

“Call you?” Daryl said, confused. “You never asked me to.”

“Yeah.” Now Rick didn’t just sound frustrated, he seemed a little pissed off. “Boy, do I know.”

“Nah.” Annoyed, Daryl pushed him, but it weren’t really effective in getting Rick away, which Daryl didn’t really want anyway. “Nah. You don’t get to—if you wanted me to call you, you should’ve said.”

“Yeah,” Rick said again.

“No,” Daryl said, pushing him again. “I’d’ve done it. I’d’ve done anything you asked!”

“I know.” Rick looked miserable. 

“I ain’t a mind reader, Rick.”

“You don’t have to read my mind,” said Rick, leaning in again. “Kiss me. I want you to kiss me.”

Then Rick was kissing him, so thoroughly that Daryl found himself struggling to comply—because Rick had asked. He’d said what he’d wanted.

“More,” Rick said, pushing him down, still kissing him. Rick climbed on top of him, thighs astride him, bearing down. “More. I want . . .” Then Rick was kissing him again, hard and hungry, and it really did feel like he’d missed him—like he’d missed Daryl as much as Daryl had missed Rick.

It occurred to Daryl that he could touch Rick’s thighs. He could run his hands up them, curve around to Rick’s ass, grab Rick’s ass and grind Rick’s crotch down against his, grind until Daryl could feel Rick’s cock against his. Rick’s jeans were still open; Daryl could do it—but Rick had been about to say what he wanted, and he hadn’t finished. He’d said his safe word earlier. Daryl kept his fists curling into the floor.

“Dammit.” Rick’s teeth scraped Daryl’s jaw. “Why won’t you ever just take it?”

Daryl pressed into the floor, trying to lean back enough to see Rick’s face properly, find out what he meant.

“Fuck,” said Rick, but it wasn’t an exclamation. “I wanna fuck. You want me to tell you what I want?” Getting back up on his knees, he got off of Daryl. “I wanna fuck in your bedroom,” he said, standing up, offering his hand down to Daryl.

Confused, a little wary, Daryl took his hand. Rick hauled him up.

“Go on,” Rick said, so Daryl went.

“Take off your clothes,” Rick said, once they got there. Rick flicked on the light and Daryl started taking off his clothes, because Rick was telling him what to do and he hardly ever did that. He’d done it those two times he’d tied Daryl up—only those two times. He hadn’t done again. 

Daryl’s room didn’t have Rick’s fancy bed—how was Rick gonna do tie him down without the posts, without all his little hooks and things? Just thinking about how Rick might get creative was getting Daryl hot, even though he didn’t understand why he’d had to wait so long.

“Get on the bed,” Rick said, when Daryl was done. As Daryl got on the bed, Rick asked, “Where’s your lube?”

“In there.” Waving his hand at a drawer, Daryl watched him. Rick had gotten naked too and Daryl drank in the sight of him. He was still too slim and too pale, but fuck he looked good, and Rick had said he’d missed him. Embarrassingly, Daryl realized he didn’t actually even care so much about the fucking. He just wanted Rick to be close to him, close and touching and saying more things. They could fuck too; that was great. Daryl was great at getting fucked, and Rick always made it feel so good.

Rick got the lube and then got on the bed, got on top of him. Daryl knew by now that Rick liked it wet, liked to stretch it and get it real ready. That was okay. It always felt nice, and Rick did things like touch and kiss him while he did it; sometimes he said things, like, _good_ and _you feel so good_ and _keep your legs open for me, sweetheart; I love to touch you._

Rick was opening the lube. Mouth watering, Daryl opened his legs a little, hoping he might get a _good_ or maybe one of those, _God, you’re hot_ ’s. Getting the lube on his hand, Rick reached down there, leaned in and kissed him.

The kiss was a little more awkward than usual, Rick holding himself above Daryl, and Daryl couldn’t feel Rick’s fingers. Just the slight brush of his dick. And Rick’s lips were only just brushing Daryl’s jaw, his chin. Lifting his head a little, Daryl looked down.

“You said you’d do anything I asked,” Rick said.

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice was strained. He didn’t know what else to say.

Rick’s hand was between his own legs—under his own dick. Under his balls. Reaching back. Christ.

Christ.

“Let me,” Rick said, lips brushing Daryl’s again. “Please let me.”

“Christ, Rick.” Daryl twisted a little under him, his dick so hard it hurt. “ _Let_ you.”

“Yeah. Please.” Rick’s lips drifted clumsily over Daryl’s face as he fingered himself. He was obviously having to think about it—balance himself differently, with his hand between his own legs. His lips touched Daryl’s ears. “I’ve wanted it a long time.”

“Rick.” Daryl shifted again under him, unable to stand the heat.

“Let me,” Rick said again. “Will you let me?”

“Jesus, Rick,” Daryl said, barely able to breathe. “I ain’t—I ain’t gonna stop you.”

Rick kissed him, lips passing over Daryl’s cheek; then he was biting Daryl’s chin. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Daryl was confused and a little horrified, that Rick was thanking Daryl for—for what, for putting his dick in him, for fucking emasculating him, using him like a pussy but Jesus Christ, it was what Rick wanted, and Daryl didn’t think he had it in him to stop him. He hadn’t known Rick was a queer—not like this. Rick said he liked men and women but you could do that without taking it, without taking it up the ass.

But Rick wanted it.

He wanted it, and Daryl wasn’t gonna stop him, his hands balled up in the sheets, Rick balanced over him. Then Rick was touching Daryl’s cock, covering it in the lube and it flashed through Daryl’s mind that maybe he should have a condom. Maybe he should have a condom, because if he didn’t, he might get his come in Rick, and that would be . . . that would be . . .

Daryl’s brain got stuck on what that would be.

Then Rick was holding Daryl’s dick, getting up on his knees over Daryl, balancing himself and slowly coming down—

“What are you doing?” Daryl asked, hands shooting out to grip Rick’s hips, stopping him.

Rick tilted his head at him.

“You’re gonna hurt yourself,” Daryl said, though he guessed he was the one more likely to be hurt. The angle was all wrong, and Rick was as stiff as a board. “You gotta . . .” Daryl tugged Rick’s hips with his hands, adjusting the angle, and Rick went with it.

“Like that?” Rick moved down again, his ass pressing against Daryl’s dick.

Christ, Rick’s ass was on Daryl’s dick.

Then Daryl’s dick was pushing inside, and it was tight. It was so tight, and Rick was going too fast, so fast it kinda hurt, the pressure so intense. Daryl felt half-shocked, worried he was gonna go soft. He didn’t know how Rick was doing it, him being this tight, and when Daryl looked up at him, Rick’s whole face was strained, eyes shut tight, cords in his neck standing out.

“Stop,” Daryl said, grabbing Rick’s thighs. “Rick, stop.”

Rick paused, almost all the way on Daryl’s cock, but not quite. “Yeah,” he said, his breath shallow and weird. He opened his eyes. They were wet.

“Jesus,” Daryl muttered, and he didn’t know what to do, only it was dawning on him Rick didn’t know what he was doing either. He didn’t know what the fuck he was doing, and Daryl didn’t know how to explain. The only way he knew how was to show him, so he gripped Rick’s thigh, his other hand going up to Rick’s shoulder.

“What,” Rick began, but then Daryl was rolling them over, trying to stay in Rick the same amount. Pulling out could feel so bad, but Daryl didn’t wanna shove it in neither. Jesus. Daryl couldn’t remember the last time he’d done this. He hadn’t done this with Jake. Daryl wasn’t any good at it. 

They mostly got there, Rick lying on the bed, Daryl trying to reposition himself over him without his cock slipping out the rest of the way. Rick’s arms came up to Daryl’s shoulders, sliding down his back, then on Daryl’s ass. Rick’s eyes opened, his face more relaxed now, and then he tugged down on Daryl’s ass, urging him in deeper.

“Rick.” Daryl’s voice was scraped raw.

“It’s okay.” Rick arched, adjusting under him. “Keep going.”

Daryl wasn’t good at it, wasn’t used to setting the pace or easing himself inside or holding himself up like this, so he wouldn’t crush him. His dick wasn’t good like Rick’s. He couldn’t fuck like Rick could fuck, but then Daryl thought about Rick over him, trying to position himself. He swallowed hard. “Rick,” he croaked. “How long’s it been since you done this?”

“Long enough.”

“How long?”

Rick huffed a husky little laugh. “Daryl. The closest I ever got to another guy was masturbating in the same college dorm.”

“College?” Daryl swallowed again, his throat so dry. How old were college kids? But that was your answer—college kids were _kids_ ; Rick hadn’t done it since—and then Daryl processed the rest of what Rick had said.

“Come on and fuck me,” Rick said.

“Never?” Daryl could hear his voice break, his dick still half in Rick’s body. “You ain’t never . . . ?”

Rick arched again under him, his hands pulling Daryl into him. “Not like this.”

Rick had never . . . God, he’d never. “Fuck,” Daryl said. “Fuck,” and his whole body jerked, his dick sinking in the rest of the way. He knew that must have hurt, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Rick had never been fucked before. Not by a guy. 

“Like that,” Rick said. “Daryl, come on.”

Rick wasn’t just saying he’d never been fucked by a guy before, though. He was saying he’d never even fucked a guy himself, never, not before Daryl—and here Rick was, letting Daryl put his dick inside of him. Daryl’s dick was _inside_ of him, and—what was Rick saying? He’d never sucked a cock before Daryl’s? He’d never even had another guy go down on him, before Daryl? Masturbation. In the same room. Was he saying he’d never even touched another cock besides Daryl’s?

Daryl’s hips twitched, his dick reacting like it had a mind of its own.

“Come on.” Rick’s voice was slightly hoarse. “I want you to.”

Daryl’s hips bucked, cock shoving itself inside Rick again. It wasn’t what Daryl had meant to do, but before he could rethink it he was pulling back, ready for another thrust.

“Yeah,” said Rick, and Daryl did it, shoving it in. A good solid fuck, and he wanted it again.

And again.

“Keep going.” Rick shifted a little under him. “Like that.”

Daryl pulled out again and he was fucking him; he was fucking Rick Grimes and he couldn’t stop himself. Rick had never done it with anyone else, the things they’d done. Daryl thrust in again and thought about Rick’s mouth on his cock, clumsily trying to swallow around him. Because he didn’t know how to do it; he’d never done it before.

Daryl pulled back, and thought of Rick’s fingers inside him like a goddamn expert. His wife. Rick’s _wife,_ that was how he knew how to do it. Rick had only ever done that to a girl, and it made Daryl’s hips stutter, thrusting clumsily back inside.

That first night, Rick hadn’t been able to fuck him from behind. He’d made Daryl turn over and then Rick had fucked him, face to face. Rick had never fucked a guy before that; maybe he’d been unsure. Maybe he’d been _nervous_ , and Daryl’s hips stuttered again, a wild thrust of his dick into tight heat and fuck, it was so hot. It was so hot.

Before that, Daryl had gone down on him at that bar, and that had been Rick’s first time with another guy touching him. Ever. Rick had given him a hand job after and Rick had never touched another dick before that. Just Daryl’s, and Daryl’s hips pumped erratically at the thought, the memory. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Rick,” Daryl heard himself say, his cock buried deep inside. Then he was jerking back, shoving it in again, ruthless. He felt mindless. “Rick. _Rick._ ”

Rick’s ass was hot. Tight. Not as wet as it should be; maybe it could hurt. Fuck, Daryl needed it. He needed it, Rick’s ass, and Daryl’s brain had short-circuited. The only thing he could think was that he needed that ass again; he needed more; he needed to be inside that gripping heat, more of it, faster. He wanted to fill it up, bury himself inside it, get it over and over and over again.

He was the first one inside it. The first one to have it. The only one. Like it was his. Like it belonged to him.

Daryl shoved it in again. And again.

“Fuck,” someone said, the voice far away and strained. “Jesus fuck.”

Christ. Daryl hadn’t even been paying attention. He couldn’t pay attention. It was too much all at once; he’d never been good at this—Christ, he was terrible at this, not paying attention to Rick at all, and he couldn’t stop; he didn’t stop; he didn’t care. He wanted—he wanted—he wanted—

More of it, more and more of it, he needed more. He needed to open Rick up, spread him wide for his dick, bury himself inside, Rick surrounding all of him, touching all of him, and Daryl filling him up completely, so completely until Rick was whole and they were one, ruined and wet and lost completely, non-existent. 

“Yeah,” said that far away voice. “Daryl. Do it; keep doing it.”

“Fuck.” Daryl buried his face in the crook of a shoulder—Rick’s shoulder; it was Rick’s body he was doing this to, Rick’s ass, Rick’s _pussy—_ Daryl had made Rick into a pussy. Rick had never had a dick in him because he wasn’t a pussy. He wasn’t a queer. He’d never been with a queer before but he was now, with Daryl. He’d been with Daryl. Daryl had made him queer. He’d made Rick’s ass a pussy. The thought made him feel like he was gonna come. He was gonna come.

“Give it to me,” said Rick.

Daryl made a hoarse sound in the crook of Rick’s shoulder, tasting sweat and skin. Daryl was so close. He was so so so close.

It always took him so long to come.

“Daryl,” said Rick. “Come inside me.”

Oh, God. Rick really was a queer.

“You’re so good,” Rick said. “You’re fucking me so good.”

“Rick.” Daryl was riding an edge, a desperate sharp edge. It was painful, and he wanted it to end; he needed it to end—

“Let go,” Rick said, his voice somehow sharper. Firmer. “Daryl, fill me up with it.”

Daryl heard himself make a pathetic sound and then he was doing it; he was coming inside of Rick, and everything was warm and close and full and over. It was all over, black with light exploding behind his eyes like the whole world had opened up and let him go. He’d let go, and then he was on top of Rick still thrusting, pulling his weight against Rick. Fuck, he wanted to be inside of him forever. He wanted to keep fucking him forever.

He’d never fucked anyone like that, never. He’d never lost his mind like that while inside of someone. Usually he was trying to get it over with, the few times he’d done it with a girl. Those times with men he’d worried he wasn’t good at it, knowing they’d figure out what he was really was—a slut who liked it up the ass.

Daryl had fucked Jake a couple times. Three times. You just take so long to come, Jake had said. Do you know what you really want, deep down? 

You want to be a pussy. You’ve always been a pussy. You were made to be pussy and you love it, don’t you? Having a thick cock up your ass. Someone who really loves it like you do wasn’t made to fuck. You were made to be fucked, to take it like an eager little slut. You’re an eager little slut, aren’t you? You’re so good at it, princess. You’re perfect for it. You’re perfect.

Rick knew. Rick knew what he was, and he had wanted Daryl to fuck him anyway.

After a final hard thrust, Daryl collapsed against him.

“Goddamn.” Rick’s hand found his hair. “Fuck, Daryl. Goddamn.” Rick kissed him, an awkward turn of his head and brush of his lips against Daryl’s forehead; the angle was all wrong. His hand kept moving in Daryl’s hair.

Daryl never wanted to move again.

His breathing settled down, heartrate evening out. Then he could feel things—his soft dick still inside of Rick, his body plastered against Rick’s body. Their chests were lined up, Rick’s sharp hipbones jutting into Daryl’s. Their legs were all tangled. Daryl’s skin felt sticky, his body heavy. Daryl shifted, heard Rick’s sharp intake of breath.

Rick had never done this before, Daryl reminded himself, and fuck. Fuck, why had he let himself do it this way? He didn’t know why he’d done it at all. It couldn’t’ve felt good for Rick. Rick hadn’t even come. Daryl doubted whether Rick was even hard, after all of that. Maybe he hadn’t been hard to begin with. Daryl couldn’t remember. He wanted to reach down and feel it, but that’d require moving, and he didn’t wanna pull out without a plan.

“Are you . . .” Daryl tried to think of what to say. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Rick was breathing hard, his voice scratchy. He expelled another long breath. “Yeah.”

“Sorry.”

Rick sucked in another breath, this one sharp. “Don’t. Just, for once—don’t do that.”

Don’t apologize, Daryl guessed. Rick didn’t like it when he apologized.

His dick was still inside of Rick, wet and soft, now, disgusting. Most of Daryl’s weight was on Rick too, and Rick’s cock was definitely soft. Daryl could feel it. “Can I suck it now?” he asked.

Rick huffed a laugh. “What?”

“Your dick.” Daryl tilted his head so he could look at Rick’s face, but the angle was still wrong. He was too close. “I wanna suck your dick.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah. Gonna ‘let me’?”

Rick frowned. “Daryl . . .”

“I just wanna get your dick in my mouth, Rick,” Daryl said. “It don’t have to be that complicated.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Rick began to shift under him. 

“Nah, don’t—” Daryl held him down. “You do things too quick; you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Rick stopped moving, and Daryl hesitated. “This ain’t gonna feel good,” he said.

“What?”

“This.” Slowly, Daryl pulled out.

“Shit,” Rick said, and it was both figurative and literal.

Rick probably hadn’t thought it through, wasn’t used to it. Probably didn’t realize how Daryl cleaned himself, got ready for it—because Daryl was experienced, knew what he was doing, and Rick didn’t know a goddamn thing. Motherfucking babe in the woods, and Daryl rather intensely wanted to avoid Rick feeling bad about the mess, embarrassed. He didn’t want Rick to think about it. 

Rick wasn’t a queer. He didn’t know.

As soon as Daryl was out he was sliding down, engulfing Rick’s soft dick, and yeah, he’d missed this. He’d missed it so much and he could make Rick forget about it. He could make Rick forget about everything, growing harder and harder in Daryl’s mouth. Daryl would take care of him; he’d make him feel so good and it felt good to Daryl, too, having Rick inside him again. This was what he needed. This was what he craved.

But then Daryl thought about what he’d done—fucking Rick—and his own cock twitched. Fuck, what had he been thinking, making Rick into a queer? Daryl took more of Rick’s cock in his mouth. It was hard enough now, and Daryl opened wider, relaxing to take it down his throat. 

His nose was at Rick’s pubic bone and Rick’s hand came down to touch Daryl’s neck, the way Rick liked to do. Rick liked to feel it in there, feel his own cock encased in Daryl’s silky throat, but he’d let Daryl fuck him. He’d let Daryl fuck him and Daryl choked on it, had to come back off of it.

“Yeah, that’s good,” said Rick, hand twisting in Daryl’s hair.

Daryl kissed Rick’s cock, licked it, tasted more of the precome. Rick’s cock was thick and full and hard; Daryl needed to smell it, get that scent inside him, all around him, surrounding him. He needed Rick’s dick in his mouth, filling him. He needed it—warm and comforting and familiar, filling him up. It was familiar; he knew what to do. He knew what to do; he could make Rick come—he needed to make Rick come, feel good. He was getting frantic with it, kissing, licking—he needed Rick to feel good. He needed Rick to come.

“Daryl,” Rick said, hand tightening in Daryl’s hair. “What do you need?”

Daryl went back down on it, sucking harder now, one hand holding Rick’s dick as he went down on it, other hand coming up to hold Rick’s balls. More. Daryl needed more, closed his eyes, trying to chase that feeling—that feeling where he knew what he was doing and knew that he was good and wasn’t thinking about how it’d felt, making Rick into a queer.

Daryl choked again, too much at once, but he needed—he just needed Rick to come, to feel good again, so he tried to keep it down.

“Daryl,” Rick said again, petting his hair. “I missed you so much.”

Fuck. Daryl choked again; this wasn’t what he needed. Throat raw, he came off it, licking as he went, still trying to make it good. “Use me,” Daryl said, his voice like gravel. “Use my mouth.”

Rick’s eyes flashed, looking down at him. For a second Daryl thought Rick was gonna throw a hissy fit, like he sometimes did when Daryl needed this, but instead Rick just said, “Yeah. Okay.” 

Then his hands tightened in Daryl’s hair again and everything was blissful; Rick was forcing Daryl’s head down on his cock. Daryl took it, opening his mouth, his throat, welcoming the hard, insistent intrusion. “Come on,” Rick said. “You can take more. I’ve seen you take more.” 

The words made Daryl feel fucking high and he took more, eyes rolling back in his skull, taking more.

“I do like this, you know,” Rick said. “My dick down your throat.”

Daryl made an animal sound, a moan, and Rick fucked into it.

Then Rick was really doing it, holding his face and fucking him. “I love the way you take it,” Rick said, and Daryl moaned again, fumbling for Rick’s balls—wanting to stroke Rick’s balls while Rick’s cock moved in and out of his throat.

“Damn,” Rick said. Then he arched, dick thrusting painfully against Daryl’s throat, and Rick was coming, doing it down Daryl’s throat.

Daryl pulled off, wanting to taste it, wanting to get some of it on his tongue—know it was real, feel it was real, that Rick liked him, and wanted it; Rick had liked it. Rick had never had a guy do this to him before Daryl.

Finally Rick was finishing and Daryl licked him clean, making sure to stop when Rick stopped twitching. It got sensitive then and didn’t feel as nice. 

Then Daryl carefully climbed off the bed. “Get up,” he said.

Rick turned to look at him. “What?”

“The sheets,” said Daryl.

Rick frowned, then remembered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Daryl said. “I got a washer.”

Rick got off the bed.

“You can use the shower if you want,” Daryl said, beginning to strip the bed.

“Yeah,” Rick agreed, started heading for the bathroom. “You need water?”

“Huh?” Daryl had got the top sheet off but the mess had gone through a little, just a damp spot on the cover sheet.

“Your throat,” said Rick.

Daryl scowled. “My throat’s had way worse than that,” he said, and only after Rick went out did he realize he shouldn’t be reminding Rick of all the dicks he’d had. How much come he’d swallowed. Christ. Rick was a fucking virgin, or something like that; Daryl didn’t know what to call it when you’d probably fucked your wife up, down, and sideways, but had never done it with a guy. 

Gathering up the sheets, Daryl headed toward the pantry in the kitchen, where the washer was. Rick had known he was a comeslut from the beginning. He’d heard all those things Jake had said. Daryl put the sheets in and some soap. Rick had wanted him anyway.

Daryl put on some jeans and a shirt, then got a glass of water after all. He wanted to make coffee, but it was ten o’ clock and he had to work the next morning. Maybe Rick was gonna stay. Maybe they were gonna fuck some more. They’d done it three times in a night, once. Maybe Rick would want some coffee. Daryl needed something to do with his hands.

Shit, he needed to calm down.

Before these last twelve days Daryl had made it nineteen days without a single cigarette. Once it seemed like Rick should call but he hadn’t, Daryl’d snuck a few—just a few, like one a day, twice today before going to Carol’s. One more time shouldn’t hurt.

Daryl went out on the front stoop. The evening was strangely unmuggy for Georgia in the spring. The stars were out. The smoke looked beautiful, curling up into the sky.

“I thought you quit,” Rick said, coming out the door.

Daryl glanced up at him. Rick had put his paint clothes back on, that stupid camp shirt—something of Carl’s, maybe. His hair was wet and he looked like a goddamn Home Ec model. “You could borrow one of my shirts,” Daryl said, because Rick’s had paint all over it. Maybe Rick had never painted before, neither. Maybe he didn’t know how to do anything.

“Your shirts are too big for me,” Rick said.

“Yeah.” 

Rick sat down beside him, elbows going to his thighs, hands loose between his knees. Looked out at the night.

Daryl smoked a while, watching the white smoke swirl lazily up into the night sky. 

“You realize I can’t read your mind either,” said Rick, once Daryl had smoked down to the filter.

Daryl eyed him. Stubbing out his cigarette on the cinderblock, he already wished he had another one.

“I call you,” Rick said. “I ask you when you’re free. You don’t. You never initiate.”

“I initiate,” Daryl said.

“No, you don’t.”

“I initiate all the time.”

“Daryl,” Rick said. “You never even kiss me.”

 _Fuck you_ , Daryl wanted to say, because that made him angry. It made him really angry, that Rick would act like he wasn’t even trying. 

But Daryl didn’t say _fuck you_ , because he had neighbors. Instead, he used his pent-up anger to get to his feet, open the door, stalk back in the house. Wanted to slam the door, but he needed Rick in here. He needed Rick in here right now, because Rick couldn’t see how hard it was—to kiss him, to hold him like Rick liked, to touch him like Rick liked. 

It was kinda a lot to remember, and Daryl wasn’t good at it. Christ, now who was being demanding? And what the hell was Rick doing outside? Pushing the front door back open wider, Daryl stuck his head through. “Get in here,” Daryl said.

Rick looked up, like he was surprised, like he thought Daryl wasn’t gonna come back at him, and that pissed Daryl off even more. Slowly Rick stood and followed him inside, and that made Daryl madder still. He wanted to yell at him or push him or something, get in his face or something.

“Daryl,” Rick said, and Daryl realized he’d been pacing.

Daryl stopped abruptly. “You don’t call me for twelve fucking days because I don’t kiss you good enough?”

“Don’t be an idiot.” Rick sneered. He actually fucking sneered.

“I’m not the one getting his shorts in a wad over some fucking necking!”

“You didn’t call me either.”

“What?”

“You didn’t call me either, Daryl,” said Rick. “I called you last Monday and you were busy. I texted last Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. You could’ve asked to get together, but you didn’t. And I didn’t call after that because it didn’t sound to me like you wanted to hook up.”

“I always wanna hook up!”

“But I don’t know that,” said Rick. “Look. I got the impression, however mistaken, that you needed some time. Then I saw you tonight and I knew it wasn’t true. I misread you, and I didn’t communicate well, and that’s on me and I’m sorry. But you have to communicate with me too.”

“You thought I needed time?” Daryl said, still stuck on that part. “Time for what?” 

“Time,” said Rick. “Apart from me.”

“I don’t ever need time apart from you,” Daryl said.

“Yeah.” Rick sounded as though he hated it.

“Look, you wanted me to call, why didn’t you say? Why didn’t you just say?”

“You didn’t say you wanted me to call either.”

Daryl gestured at him angrily. “I don’t gotta tell you what to do! You’re supposed to tell me!”

Rick’s face wiped clean. His eyes were blank, staring at him, just staring, but the longer it went on the more exhausted he looked, like wrinkles were forming under his eyes as Daryl watched. “Fuck,” Rick finally croaked, turning away. “I don’t have the energy for this.”

“I initiate.” Daryl grabbed his arm, turning him back. “I initiate all the time. That time I showed up—I showed up slicked up at your apartment, I wanted to fuck, and you didn’t like it. Rick, you hated it. That was me; I was initiating; you didn’t like it. Shit, I tried to suck you off in this hallway just half an hour ago and you hated it!”

“I’m not talking about fucking, Daryl!” Stepping closer, Rick brought his voice back down. “I don’t wanna—listen to me.” Grabbing Daryl, who wanted to pace again or maybe just fucking leave, Rick pushed him against the wall. “Listen. I don’t wanna tell you what to do. I want you to decide what to do—I want it to be mutual. I don’t want you to be my—my toy! You’re not a plaything I’m gonna just pick up and drop! I want _you_. Don’t you get that?”

“But that’s what you got.” Daryl’s voice was too high, scraping in his throat. “You already got me.”

“No. I want—like what you have with Carol,” Rick said. “You don’t wait around for her to tell you what to do. You don’t hesitate to ask her for her time.”

Daryl frowned, looked Rick over. Trying to figure out what he meant, because it weren’t like he was bending over for Carol’s cock, neither.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, then Rick kissed him. Hard. His tongue swept in, forceful, then back out. Rick bit Daryl’s bottom lip, drew it in, sucked, then let go. “I like the sex, Daryl. But that can’t—that’s not enough. I need you to want more from me.”

Daryl eyed him, still trying to figure it out. Rick’s jaw was set firm, a wrinkle in his brow, but his gaze was locked on Daryl. “Carol and Sophia need me,” Daryl finally pointed out.

“Exactly,” said Rick. He let go.

 _I need you too_. That was what that meant. Daryl didn’t really get it, but he got that was what Rick was saying. “Okay,” Daryl said slowly.

Rick sucked in a breath. “Okay?”

Daryl thought about how Rick didn’t have no furniture, or appliances. How he didn’t have anyone to touch him, or kiss him like he liked. The way Rick thought Carl hated him, and how Judith was a little baby and someone needed to hold her when she spit up, and Daryl had built that crib with Rick. “Yeah.” Daryl said, feeling like he understood a little more. “I get it.”

Rick’s head tilted. “Do you?”

“Yeah.” Daryl shook the hair out of his face. “I thought—I thought it might bother you. If I called.”

Rick’s eyes narrowed. “Did someone tell you that?”

Daryl shrugged, not really ready to explain the part about being a needy bitch. Now that Rick had said what he had said, it seemed pretty stupid that Daryl hadn’t realized Rick would be different, but it weren’t like Jake had been completely wrong, neither. Merle had known. He’d always gone on about how it was only just the two of them, and it was true even if it wasn’t in true in the way Merle meant it, because Daryl had never been able to leave Merle behind. And he should have, even though Merle was his brother, even though Merle’d been all he had for so long. Daryl should’ve left him behind, because of how Merle wanted him to do meth and break the law and treat people like shit. Daryl should’ve left him for that, but he hadn’t been able to. Because Merle needed him. 

The difference here was Rick was a good person, like Carol was a good person, and Sophia. Being with them was different; it meant a different thing.

“Daryl,” Rick said, sounding dangerous.

“If someone told me, I believed it,” Daryl pointed out. “I get you, now.”

“Good.”

Daryl eyed him. “You sore?”

“What?” Rick asked, thrown off.

Daryl wasn’t about to explain. In a moment or two, Rick would remember what they did not half an hour ago.

“Oh,” said Rick, catching on.

“It happens,” Daryl said. “You’re not used to it. Use warm water. And eat fiber.”

Rick’s left cheek tugged upward, an amused smile, a little embarrassed.

Daryl leaned in, kissed the smiling part of Rick’s mouth. Just a quick one. “It ain’t like I’m not trying,” he said, when Rick looked at him in surprise.

“Yeah.” Rick smiled again. “I know.”

“You wanna . . . you want me to ‘initiate’ something? Or are you done?”

“I missed you,” Rick said, kissing him again. 

“Yeah. I’m getting that.” Daryl leaned back against the wall, but tried to do the things Rick liked—hold him, kiss him back. 

“We gotta work tomorrow,” Rick said, but kept kissing him.

“You want me to initiate something tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” Rick’s teeth scraped on Daryl’s neck and Daryl angled his head, allowing Rick access. “Come over to my place.”

Daryl kissed him some more, but he couldn’t stop thinking about it—that hurt Rick must feel at the base of his spine. His ass. How Daryl had put his dick in it, and Rick had let him, and how that made Rick a queer. How Rick had said they had to be equal. “Hey.” Daryl pulled Rick off of him, made it so he could see Rick’s face.

“What?” 

“What you did,” Daryl began, not knowing how to say it. He gestured between them. “What you did earlier. You don’t gotta . . . you don’t gotta prove a point.”

“I meant what I said,” said Rick. “I’ve wanted that for a long time.”

Rick weren’t a liar, but Daryl couldn’t help feeling a little skeptical. “You never said.”

“I didn’t think I could convince you.”

“Convince me?” Daryl scoffed.

“Yeah.” Rick leaned in, kissed him again—a short one, warm, on the mouth. No tongue. “I’ll convince you again soon.”

“It ain’t . . .” Daryl shook his hair out of his face again. “I like it the—the way we usually do it. I’m not—I’m not good at the other way.”

“I don’t care about what you’re good at,” said Rick. “I care about what you want.”

“I want what I’m good at.”

Rick pulled his lower lip into his mouth and it was sinful, his lips red and puffy with kissing. “I care about what I want too,” he said finally.

Daryl tried to shrug, like it weren’t a big thing. “Whatever.” 

“I’ll make you believe me.”

“I believe you,” Daryl said. 

Rick let go of a long breath. “Yeah.”

“Come here,” Daryl said. “Lemme initiate a goodbye. That work for you?”

They kissed a while, Daryl putting real effort into it—trying to use his tongue, his hands, kiss Rick’s jaw like Rick always did his. After a long minute Rick pressed his forehead into Daryl’s, breathing his air, holding him tightly. “Yeah,” Rick said. “Yeah. That works for me.”

*

IV. Initiating

They did some more painting Tuesday night. Daryl thought about what Rick had said, about initiating, but he didn’t know what to do. They were there with Sophia and Carol. Then Rick had to work late on Wednesday night, so he wasn’t even there. By Thursday Daryl had thought a whole helluva lot about initiating, but Carol still needed help. She wanted to get moved in by the weekend, and she weren’t gonna get it done just by herself. Luckily, Rick came again to help paint on Thursday. Daryl didn’t know what to do but he had to do it. He had to initiate something or he was gonna burst.

When Merle got put away again Daryl had felt like he was being ripped in two. He didn’t even like Merle most of the time, but that didn’t matter; Daryl needed someone. He needed someone even though he preferred being alone, because having someone else meant he mattered. The things he did, the things he made himself do because he was human and he was alive—eating and sleeping and doing odd jobs at the garage to score a little cash—it wasn’t all just worthless when someone cared that he existed.

Then Daryl had met Carol and his life began to matter so much more. Carol didn’t just care if he was alive; she cared if he was good. He had to be good, so he could take care of her, care of Sophia. It mattered not just that he was eating and sleeping but that he was working and making the house clean and not doing any drugs. Daryl wanted that, to be a better person, for her.

Even though Daryl had thought about Rick’s divorce a lot, he hadn’t thought too much about Lori specifically, about what she’d been for Rick. They’d been married and that was the be-all, end-all, wasn’t it? The happy ending at the end of a fairy tale, something that had always felt unreal and far away to Daryl, something that happened to other people. He’d assumed he didn’t know what that felt like, so he hadn’t thought much about it at all.

But now Daryl was thinking about it, about what Rick had said— _I want what you have with Carol._ For the first time, it occurred to Daryl that Rick was alone the way that Daryl was alone, that Rick could need him the way that Daryl needed him.

Daryl would do anything Rick said.

Daryl didn’t plan it, but it happened at one point that Daryl went out into the living room to get more paint and there was Rick, doing the window frames by himself. Daryl could do it. He could do it right here. Initiate. Just touch him—touch him to show him he understood, he was trying.

Just realizing he was alone in the room with Rick was making Daryl’s heart beat hard, his hands kinda clammy. Carol or Sophia could come in any minute, even though Carol was busy with the floorboards in her own room and Sophia was doing the closet in her room. 

Setting down the paint he’d picked up, Daryl went over to Rick, who’d glanced at him but turned back to the windows once he’d seen Daryl was just getting paint. When Rick turned to look at him again, slight look of inquiry on his face, Daryl moved in. Tried to land the kiss right on his lips, but Rick was still turning his head so Daryl’s lips swept against his cheek, and then Daryl pulled away.

Rick just looked so goddamned surprised.

“Initiatin’,” Daryl explained, feeling like a fucking church girl. He could feel his cheeks burning.

And then Rick looked grateful. So fucking grateful that Daryl’s heart squeezed, hard. He wanted to kiss him again, so he could make that look go away—like maybe Rick didn’t know Daryl thought about him, that Daryl thought about him all the time. Maybe Rick hadn’t believed that Daryl would do anything, even stupid little things like this—especially stupid little things like this. 

Doing something like this—kissing Rick in the living room for no reason—it weren’t no skin off Daryl’s back, except the fear of getting caught, and that was worth it. All of that was worth it, because maybe Rick needed reminding. Maybe he needed reminding that he was wanted and needed and liked, really fucking liked for who he was.

Daryl was standing there with his cheeks still hot and his heart still squeezing when Rick reached out, like he was gonna touch him. Then a step sounded and Daryl stepped back, and Carol came in from down the hall.

“I thought we could,” she began, and stopped, looking between them. Daryl went and picked up his paint. “Get Chinese food this time,” Carol finished.

“Imma go help Sophia,” Daryl said. He headed off toward Sophia’s bedroom, cheeks still too hot.

They got Chinese food. 

* 

Carol moved into her house over the weekend. Daryl, Maggie Greene, Beth Greene, and Glenn all helped. Rick had his kids but they came over and helped on Saturday afternoon. In the evening Daryl drove the moving truck back to the U-Haul and Rick drove to pick him up.

On the way back they rode together in silence, but Daryl was real aware it was the only time they were gonna get alone together that whole weekend. He was thinking about it the whole ride, but it weren’t until the last two minutes that Daryl realized he hadn’t said nothing to Rick, nothing about how he was thinking about him and what they could do once they got more time alone together. Daryl put his hand on Rick’s thigh.

Rick glanced at him quickly.

“Initiatin’,” Daryl said.

Rick licked his lips and drove the car slower, making the time until they had to go back to everyone last a little longer.

*


End file.
